


Ardent Confessions

by QueenCandyness



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: AU, Angst, Book 3 Spoilers, Dragons, F/M, Fluff, Multi, Pure Love, Wedding, loving alfonse juice, sometimes reader is gender-neutral, sometimes reader isnt summoner, we got all genres here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 01:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20074189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenCandyness/pseuds/QueenCandyness
Summary: [One-shot book] The prince wouldn't wish for anyone else. He only wanted you, and he couldn't wait to hear you confess through your sweet lips. However, he doesn't mind to be the one confessing instead.





	1. Happiness | Groom!Alfonse x Bride!Princess!Reader

You’re betrothed to a man who fell in love with your image.

It didn’t make the diamond necklace that dipped beautifully into your cleavage anymore valuable. Nor the gorgeous white dress that was passed down to you by your Mother. Nor the pristine craft of the wedding ring. Nor the fact that all it took for a prince to fall in love with you was through mere sight. 

You were astounded, really, how anyone could have fallen in love with you at first glance. Perhaps your Father paid an artist to sketch a portrait of you in a much more appealing manner. Or perhaps this was all just for business as the maids and squires like to gossip about inside the senile walls of the castle. 

"_A unity between Fiera and Brann, maybe our kingdom will get out of debt!_" The chattering maids would say behind your back. 

This isn't what you wanted. Far from it. But your duty as Princess commands it, especially if you're the single heir to the throne.

“You look beautiful, dear. Just like your Mother in her younger years.” A gentle old maid tended to every crease — big and small — on your dress. Her compliment didn’t fetch a favorable response from you; instead, you furrowed your drawn-in eyebrows in a state of blankness. 

You certainly didn’t want Alfonse to come to your wedding. Yet, when you stepped into Askr the day after the wedding arrangement was announced, the prince gave you a stern look.

"Princess ______." He uttered your name nonchalantly, and stood stiffly in a manner that made him appear stoic. The two of you remained staring at each other, a feat that made you glue your eyes to the floor in shame and guilt. With no continuation, you inspected his face. You could tell that his lips were twitching to form a broken smile. "Congratulations." 

It looked like he wanted to say more, but his heels turned sharply and he paced off quickly before he could mention a word. In an instant, he was gone. 

Tears gradually rolled down your sunken face, staining the polished white marble below you. You hadn't brought yourself to tell him in person, but you didn't know he would be this upset. Alfonse had always been a man of distance.

Maybe you should've followed his steps instead of trying to go on fruitful trips to Askr — just to see the prince. You couldn't help yourself. It was his desire to keep distance that compelled you closer to him. In an attempt to befriend the quiet prince, you and his sister made intimate plans to help relieve burden off his back. Such as shopping and crafting flower crowns for him. 

It was this persistence through casual meets that led him to cave in. You had held his hand in comfort when his Father scolded him for his inane desire to fight instead of govern. He was a Prince who not only served, but fought for his people. You always admired those traits, and despite Askr being against his wishes, he managed to pull through.

"Alfonse, you're not useless." His hand quivered under yours, gripping the ledge of the balcony. You brought yourself inches away from his trembling form. It was dark out, making it difficult to see past the messy blue hair that covered his eyes, but you can tell that silent tears leaked through. "You've given body and soul for the people of Askr. As much as they deserve happiness, you deserve it too." You held his hand with a firm grasp, rubbing his gloved knuckles.

"I would rather sacrifice my happiness to the people. It would be selfish of me if I didn't," his voice trailed off into a whisper, "and I'll always put my kingdom first." 

A frown made you scrunch your face, concern brewing in your heart. Suppressed sobs were still trapped in his throat, but he was bold enough to look up to the stars, and then to you. His eyes were glimmering from the tears he had shed, and your expression softened at the sight. 

"Alfonse…" you bite your lip, "You are a part of Askr; you are part of the people. Prince or not, how could one live in a kingdom when they're not truly happy? You always wish the best for people, and don't expect wishes in return. And… you always fought for what you believed in. Those are qualities I admire you for." You heaved a sigh, realizing that your chest was starting to feel compressed. "But… I've always wished the best for you. And I believe you should fight for what makes you happy."

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze and smiled, seeing him formulate one of his own, "Thank you for your kind words, _____." Despite the messiness of his hair, it framed his face perfectly as if he were a work of art. His half-lidded eyes that dropped from weariness made direct contact with your own. It made your heart fleet into a warm sensation in your chest. You caught his lips moving, and you barely processed his words. "I appreciate it."

Thinking about it prompted tears of your own, and a new maid that was tending to you hissed, yelling about ruining your makeup. It only took a few seconds to fix it much to your disappointment. The maid stopped and huffed with pride, as if she were the one who worked on you the entire day.

She rested her hands on her hips, absorbing every inch of you fully. "You're a piece of work but… we made a fine work out of it." A bell chimed in the tower, signaling the start of the ceremony. The maid patted your shoulder and gave you a joyful look that contrasted your despaired one, "It's time, Princess. Don't ruin this for us."

The rest was a blur, and you found yourself walking in a forced strut in heels that began to bother you after having worn it the whole day. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Brann's eldest son waiting for you in the cathedral with a black and gold tux. After entering with the help of your Father, you got to have a closer look at him. 

He's a man with regal posture and broad shoulders. His jawline and slicked brown hair screamed a sense of maturity and masculinity that made your eyebrows twitch. From up close, you can tell this was also a man of few words, but his stare was cold like stone. It was nothing compared to Alfonse's. 

Thinking of him, your eyes swept through the compacted banquet hall, instantly finding his blue hair in the back row. The sound of clapping distracted you from inspecting, forcing you to gaze at the eldest son instead. It makes your heart race in fear just by looking at him, mostly because you couldn't tell what he was thinking behind those dark eyes.

An older man approached the two of you from behind, a book laid in his hands. You recognized his uniform to be that of a tactician from Brann. He held a grin for the both of you and proceeded with monologue about how excited both kingdoms are about the unity between Fiera and Brann. You would roll your eyes if it weren't for the burning stare of the prince in front of you.

"Now, Eirik, eldest son of Brann. Do you vow to protect and serve your wife, and love her in the honor of your kingdom and your blood?" The tactician asked and Eirik held your hands as per tradition. 

"I do."

"______. Only daughter and child of Fiera. Do you vow to protect and serve your husband, and love him in the honor of your kingdom and blood?"

Your heart stopped, unable to bring yourself to say two simple words. But those words held a sacred meaning, meant for somebody special to you. Eirik didn't qualify. 

Your sudden hesitation brought a wave of murmurs and confusion at your prolonging pause. Out of your peripheral vision, your Father stood to approach you. Your throat suddenly became dry, and the two words that you needed to say suddenly dissolved into nothingness. You couldn't say it.

"No." You managed to say without cracking your voice. Gasps erupted from the crowd, urging the lot of them to stand up in shock. A feeling of asphyxiation coiled your throat and your thoughts. 

You couldn't breathe.

Eirik didn't budge, he stayed put with hands tied behind his back, patiently waiting. "Princess, you know you can't back out on this. It'll go with or without your consent." He outstretched his hand to caress your cheek. "You poor, beautiful creature..."

It seemed like someone was yelling but the crowd was in too much panic to focus. Eventually the sound of a sword unsheathing caught everyone's attention, including Eirik's. In the middle of the hall stood the Prince of Askr, Alfonse. He wore a gorgeously detailed white tux with gold trimmings. The feathers that protruded out of his normal outfit was seen in both his shoulder pads, making him appear regal. He stood with poise, his eyebrows scrunched with a fire lit in his blue-gray eyes. 

Alfonse held his sword, pointing at Eirik. "I propose a duel, eldest son of Brann. Whoever wins gets to take the hand of Princess _____." He declared, earning a shocked reaction from both you and Eirik.

"Alfonse…" You felt your heart beat — for him. 

His father clenched his teeth, fuming, "Alfonse, what are you doing?"

Eirik's laughter boomed through the hall as he walked down the aisle. A person from Brann threw a sword at Eirik, and he caught it midair. "Well, princeling. I accept your duel."

The sound of two swords clashing echoed, forcing people to glue themselves to the wall to avoid being in the fray. Both of the men scowled, playing on the defense in order to study each other. Suddenly, Eirik jabbed his sword, nearly impaling Alfonse's stomach. Due to his quick reactions, the sword only grazed his tux, forming a tear. 

You realized that his movements were sluggish, or perhaps rusty. Eirik's skill in combat was outperformed by Alfonse, easily evading his attacks. It was a bit funny, really, to see such a prideful prince cowering at Alfonse's merciless blows. As quickly as it started, it had already ended. Eirik was forced on his knees, hands in the air to surrender under Alfonse's pointed sword. 

"I give up. Just take her, you lowlife prince." Eirik's face formed a scowl like an angry dog. The moment Alfonse lowered his sword, Eirik retreated to his family like a coward on all fours.

You had to bite your tongue to hold your laughter. Eirik was just a prince, nothing more. Based on his display, he fought in no real battle or war like Alfonse had. 

The remaining prince dropped his own sword, proudly entering the cathedral with you. He intertwined his fingers with yours, pulling you closer so that your lips were only mere inches apart. 

A wide smile spread across your face, "Alfonse… I can't believe you did that — for me. Thank you."

You laughed as he swooped you in his arms, spinning you with grace before he leaned close to your face. With a sultry gaze, he whispered into your ear, "You told me to fight for my happiness, and above all, what I believe in…" He placed a gentle hand on your back, lifting you back up. 

Out of nowhere, he placed his chaste lips with your painted ones, kissing you with a strong passion. An involuntary moan escaped your lips at the unprepared strength of the kiss. Your fingers ran through his hair as he pulled you close, chests touching. You barely felt his lips part from yours, since the taste of him lingered in your mouth. 

Your cheeks flushed red, unprepared for this moment, but it felt so right.

"I believe in having a future with you, _____. As long as you stay by my side, I promise to love you for eternity. It's what makes me happy."


	2. For You | Lif X Summoner!Reader

He had seen it all. 

The downfall of Askr and Embla. The flowers curling inward from the rotten touch of death. The slain body of Sharena just five feet in front of him. The feeling of Commander Anna losing her grip from his shoulder as she underwent cardiac arrest — a phenomenon that he and Veronica invoked. 

He had witnessed it all.

The poison of failure was something Alfonse had feared to drink, so when the time came that he had to, it burned his blood. His insides churned at the horror he had directly caused to his family, friends, and the people he had sworn to protect. He was the prince of a fallen kingdom; his title and lineage no longer served any meaning. Veronica had taken the news of her own kingdom's downfall surprisingly well, but again, Alfonse couldn't decipher her consistent poker face, much like she can never study his. 

Then there was you. In all other occurrences, all other worlds, and all other timelines — you should have been dead right now. He knew that. When the rite had failed, everyone around him suffered a contagious heart attack and all ceased to live. You were the first to fall, and the last to cling onto the thread of life. Alfonse had always known you were a fighter, so he knelt down and held your hand as you held onto his for dear life. Beads of sweat rolled down your sunken cheeks as you breathed in large gulps of air. Your eyes matched that of a doe, both wide and paralyzed in shock. He cursed in the name of Hel, and any other gods that he could think of for making you clasp onto life like a fish in a desert. 

"It's alright, my love," he whispered.

_No, it wasn't alright._

"You have fought the best you can. If it is time for you to leave, I understand."

_Don't leave me._

"I'm fortunate to have known you after all this time. Even when I had distanced myself from the very beginning, you had always made time to seek for my sister and me to spend time together. Your kindness and fortitude have given me great strength and captured my heart. You've risked body and soul for my well-being, and gave me every ounce of your love." 

He had felt your writhing body slow down more and more during his speech. Eventually, the warmth from your skin dissolved quickly, now emitting a bitter cold in its wake. The ice of Nifl paled in comparison. 

Solemnly, Alfonse rested his head in the crook of your neck, his tears trailing down your soft skin. With his free hand, he cupped your cheek, placing his lips onto yours to steal any trace of warmth left. He had already missed you. Your voice, your smile, your touches.

He parted. A cry of agony erupted from his throat, piercing the gloomy atmosphere. He had lost all sense of composure, every ounce of sanity had drained. He was surprised he still had any, considering everything that led to this moment. Anguish and rage coursed through his veins as new thoughts flooded his mind.

_I'll kill her myself._

To kill a god was no easy feat, much less the goddess of death herself. Hel was only susceptible to death if the rite had been done without issue, and they utterly failed. Still, he refused to believe it. For you, he'd kill anyone.

"And your father truly thought you'd prevail as a king."

Hel stood a mere few feet in front of Alfonse with her blood-stained scythe in hand. He winced at the memory of Sharena's final moments before shooting her a glare. His onyx-blue eyes sparked fury, but the glimmer of life was starting to fade.

Veronica, who stood near Alfonse despite his breakdown, shifted uncomfortably, her lips tugging into a massive frown. "I'm used to succumbing to bitter defeat," she glances at Alfonse, "When I lost my brother, I had already lost everything… but this is a loss I cannot accept." Her hands clenched into fists as she stared down at the ground, her brows furrowed in intense concentration.

Alfonse's gaze softened as he glanced back at your face. His fingers gently caressed and traced meaningless shapes on your cheeks as leftover tears stung his eyes. "Tell me… there is a way to save them. I'd do anything," his own words left him breathless, leaving him feeling quite confounded and pathetic to be begging for help, much less to Hel.

The goddess stared down at him with her cold gaze, her pursed lips slightly twitched, perhaps amused from the way he sounded defeated. "To balance the cohort of the dead, you must sacrifice another self. That way, I would not lose what I have gained from your failures," she directs her attention to Veronica, "This also applies to you."

"Sacrifice another self? Another kingdom like ours?" Veronica interrogated. 

Alfonse shook his head, "Another self… I'm sure she means us from another world." 

"My word is law. Abide by my rules and I'll make your desires come true. Once you have decimated another version of your precious kingdoms, everyone will return to you." Hel stood patiently as she watched the contorted faces of the two ex-royals. 

Her words signified that she was about to forge an oral contract with him and Veronica; a contract that he saw more personal gain than loss. At the price of destroying another kingdom to restore his? He'd do it.

Veronica heeded his words as well and obliged to not feel left out. The way she looked aimlessly with lost eyes reminded him of a terrified little girl with nowhere to go, and he took it upon himself to lead her to their goal.

Before he summoned a portal to another world, he had given you one last kiss and smiled gently. "Don't worry, my love," he took ahold of your Breidablik, the white polish of the divine weapon had decayed into a rotten black. Alfonse couldn't bring himself to act astonished, as he had more indulging thoughts in his mind, "There's a way to bring you back. And we can live the rest of our lives in peace."

Under Hel's orders, Alfonse concocted new disguises and identities: Líf and Thrasir. He educated Veronica on the subject of their first-ever rulers of Askr and Embla, which she was void of such knowledge. If he was to undermine his kingdom — another world or not — he couldn't bear to face a more innocent version of Alfonse, much less you, as Alfonse himself. Líf had to detach himself from who he really was, otherwise his calculated plan and goal would not prevail. 

Thrasir was tasked into luring the band of heroes into a trap; therefore, splitting their forces in half for both Thrasir and Líf to deal with. Fortunately, she succeeded in trapping them, and Líf had finally confronted Alfonse and his Summoner for the first time. As his eyes laid upon the Summoner, his lips tugged into a frown under his mouthguard and his eyes glinted in disappointment.

This Summoner was nothing like you.

He should've known, considering that portals to other worlds do not always equate a future or past version of his timeline. This Summoner was daring to have their hood down, showcasing all of their features. It was nothing like you at all. They were nothing more but a stranger that appalled him. In fact, it made it much easier for Líf to kill them.

So he did. With newfound fury, he drove his cursed blade into the Summoner's direction before being stopped by Alfonse's clash of his own sword.

"Líf, was it?" Alfonse scowled, "Don't touch our Summoner. Your fight is with me." He preps his blade to prepare for a swinging motion, raising his shield in advance in case Líf moved first.

He couldn't do it, no. He just couldn't.

Líf surrendered silently, sheathing his blade, confusing both Alfonse and his Summoner. "Very well, I will not end your lives today. Watch your back, Alfonse." His words were enticed with venom, sending a glare at the duo. 

He made his impromptu escape, leaving Alfonse and his Summoner in his wake. Líf had set foot in Askr's shrouded forest without recalling how he ventured to it in the first place. His thoughts were consumed by you. It had been years since the downfall of his own kingdom, many of those years were filled with endless planning and strategizing — the two things you excelled at. With angry persistence, he studied from books and remembrance of your tactics on the battlefield — stunts that you would pull to split enemies, which he had recreated today. 

Thrasir was a quick learner despite all odds, he wasn't necessarily worried when it came to teaching her. It came to the point where she also devised her own plans to intertwine with his. She had gotten serious throughout the years on restoring her empire, not realizing how grave it really was when she had lost it to Hel.

The forest was eerily quiet, just the way he remembered. This world's Askr was gradually converting into his fallen one; the rotten landscape and Hel's puppets roaming freely within it. Just like in his world.

But he had never seen you.

Whether Hel intentionally hid you or not, it was wicked and cruel how he hasn't seen your face amongst the walking corpses. In all honesty, it may have been a blessing or a curse.

A presence formed behind Líf, watching quietly as he trekked on the forest path. "Thrasir…" he called out without looking back, hearing her materialize into existence. It was a new spell that she had been perfecting that let her physical body blink into a new location. Teleportation, he recalled.

"I took care of their Commander and the princess," Líf winced at her words. "I see you failed on your part." Her bluntness made her appear rude, but he knew her long enough that she meant to point it out in curiosity.

"They overpowered me with their wits," he lied through his teeth, "Do not fret, we will tear this kingdom asunder in due time."

Thrasir glowered, her face was scrunched, "Alfonse, I was certain you of all people wouldn't lie to me, especially after all this time." She rested her hand on his shoulder, her glove emitted a frigid touch. "This is about your Summoner," she deadpanned.

Líf stopped in his tracks but still refused to meet her gaze. "So what if it is?" You were the only thing that kept him intact as a whole. He was stripped of his title, his honor, and his humanity. He is a physical manifestation of Alfonse's nightmares. A monster that sought to destroy everything he ever loved and had. Alfonse would never dare to understand his ambition.

"Your heart carries a great burden, it's not easy to live with what we had caused. But look at us," Thrasir prompted for him to look down at his own hands, the black outfit enveloped every inch of his form; no trace of his skin in sight. He stopped in front of a nearby pond. His blue hair is unruly and uncut, and his skin is pale like that of any walking corpse. He didn't know how it happened, but he was looking back at his own reflection with glowing red eyes. Líf blinked, not recognizing the monster in the mirage. 

"We are winning."

Her words were true, and the plan they have both crafted cautiously for years was already transpiring for the better. "I want them back." _You._

"They _will_ return. You want to see your lover again?" Her hand had slipped off his shoulder sometime during Líf's disassociation. She crossed her arms, a furrowed look was written on her face. 

"Then focus."

___________________

Time was a concept you have long forgotten as you aimlessly wandered around inside Askr's tomb. You had spent the majority of your afterlife recollecting fragments of memories that had begun to fade away. Were you truly dead? Is that why you could barely grasp onto your own mind? 

You were one of Hel's puppets and the moment you have died, you regained the title of Tactician over her undead army. Surprisingly, you were unable to recall ever leading them. Eir — the supposed princess and daughter of Hel — had admitted that you were being manipulated by her. Oh, if only she had known the same applies to her.

"Alfonse…" Eir stirred suddenly next to you, "Tell me more tales of your adventures with him." A small smile flashed across her face as her eyes glimmered.

Eir kept you company throughout the onslaught; Sharena was nowhere to be seen and you only caught glimpses of Commander Anna leading the fray. The princess helped console you, and in return, you have told her many aspects of your life in Askr.

"He… he had saved me countless times from rogue bandits and even, uh, assassination attempts," you grin awkwardly, scratching the back of your neck. 

"And you fell in love with him because of that? He's your… hero?"

Your body jerked, a maddening heat spread across your cheeks. "I-! I guess so!" A chuckle from her lips reached your ears, which flared even more embarrassment from within you. "He's just… amazing. The way he looks, talks, fights, just-" For a moment, you covered your mouth with your hand before releasing a breath, "He's just perfect."

Eir nodded solemnly, "I see… you must have been the happiest person in the world."

The embarrassment had finally flushed out of your system, your lips pursed at a faraway thought, "Yes." Eir's eyes widened at your sudden shift in mood and caught you fishing for something in your enlarged pockets. A golden Celtic ring with a white pearl gleamed between your fingers. "And I was happiest when he finally proposed to me, days before our kingdom fell."

Silence hung over the two of you and Eir hadn't bothered to prod for more answers or tales. It was fine. Moments of solitude weren't common for you ever since you began leading the undead unwillingly. It aided the process of returning your most precious memories, even if they hurt.

____________________

With one final thrust of his blade, Alfonse choked on his own blood that had been entrapped in his throat. His Summoner laid motionless near him with no physical injuries that he could spot. He couldn't tell anyways, their cloak had always been ragged and torn, and Líf only had to slash at them once. Tears stung his eyes, realizing that he was the last one alive from his kingdom.

He failed.

He utterly failed.

His hand clutched the massive gash, applying pressure but to no avail — the blood loss was too heavy. Small breaths cycled in and out of his body as his head rested against the stone-cold ground. Blood made his unruly blue hair sticky, allowing his bangs to block a good portion of his vision. Despite his many battles, he had never taken the time to realize how nauseating it smelled. Or perhaps his life already begun to slip away.

To say it was an overkill was an understatement.

Líf snapped, not knowing why, and found himself enjoying the feeling of blood soaking his armor. Thrasir had surprised the duo by sending a magic blast to disrupt them, allowing Líf to land a fatal blow on the frail Summoner. His red eyes glinted wrath.

"It's a shame," Líf said nonchalantly as he towered over Alfonse, "I was also forced to drink the venom that is failure, but I was given the chance to expel it. If you were in my position, you would understand." He watched Alfonse flail, trying to retort with heated words but his eyes shut, not making a sound.

Thrasir glanced at the body, prideful that they had completed their part of the contract. "Victory…" her lips twitched, "I can get used to it."

A dark presence coalesced into the form of Hel herself. The goddess stared at the corpses with a disinterested look she always seemed to adorn. "It seems like you do possess potential after all, princeling." Líf cocked a brow at her praise. She held her scythe tightly before closing her eyes. "Very well. The two of you have succeeded in sacrificing another world without issue. I am not as despicable as to ignore my side of the bargain."

She paused, her eyes remained closed for a few more seconds, "There," she opened her eyes, "It is done. Go back to your realm." She commanded like a strict mother before fading out of existence — a gimmick similar to Thrasir's teleportation spell.

Was it that easy? No, he had lost track of time when he devoted himself to this mission. He endured a long fight — and won. Granted, he had blood on his hands. Too much.

"Alfonse," Thrasir interjected with a wide grin on her face, too preoccupied in her own thoughts of victory, "Let's go home."

The first person that met him was his sister. She didn't even recognize him. With her lance pointed at his neck, she studied him with a cautious look. Her eyes that used to shine had no trace of glimmer from what she went through. He wouldn't know. All he knew was that she was used just like everyone else.

"You're not Alfonse," she let out a shaky breath, indicating that a part of her did believe.

"Where's ______?" he ordered.

"Whatever you are — you're not going to see them. Leave before I make you." Commander Anna stepped in, wielding her axe.

"Commander Anna… I am Alfonse, I swear it." It sounded like he was pleading. Maybe he really was.

"Stop!" A figure approached from the horizon, clad in an oversized cloak. You. You look so… divine. As if the gods themselves came down to earth and crafted an artwork. Your locks were messy and you had your hood down, letting Líf absorb every feature. You were… perfect.

Seemingly unafraid, you halted in front of him, visibly taken aback by his appearance. "Al-Alfonse?" Your feeble voice was lost to the breeze as you stared at him with wide eyes. "What happened to you?" 

He became increasingly aware of the blood on his armor, "I've become someone else in order to restore our kingdom. I've gone through many lengths for you to return." Líf let out a sigh, "Please, my love. You have to believe me." His arms enveloped your body close to his, allowing for him to bury his face in the crook of your neck. 

His skin was pale and cold against your vibrant and glowing one. You extended a hand and sifted it through the back of his long hair. The scent of him was metallic, but most importantly, it smelled like Alfonse. It was just a twinge, but enough to send your mind back in time. If you compare past Alfonse to this one, they juxtapose each other tremendously. 

Still, without a doubt, he is indeed Alfonse.

"I believe you," you whispered, prompting him to sob, "I believe you, Alfonse."

"Thank you, my love." Líf held onto you tightly as if you were to fade away. He didn't want you to. It had been far too long since he last held you, and the last time was when you were dying in his arms.

"Alfonse, I can't imagine what you've been through. I'm sorry," you cried, releasing your pent up emotions from ever since you died.

You paused when he parted from your neck, glancing at him lowering his mouthguard. His lips indicated past bruises from his own biting, and it appeared he must have done that a lot throughout the years. It was a bad habit that he performed when he was anxious. 

His eyes held warmth when he bore it into your own, "For you, my love," he held up your hand, gently tracing his thumb over the engagement ring. Then, he pecked a gentle kiss on your hand and a chaste kiss on your lips, savoring your taste. 

"_I would do anything_."


End file.
